


A Musician Playing Outside Tea-Houses

by fringeperson



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, The Mikado - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: F/M, Old Fic, don't copy to another fic, don't expect to see anything even slightly resembling canon here, odd speech patterns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: He was playing outside of a humble tea-house when he saw her. She was claimed by her guardian, and would marry him as soon as he could arrange it, even if she had fallen in love the the minstrel.~Originally posted in '13
Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/Sesshoumaru, one-sided Kagome/InuYasha, one-sided Kagome/Kouga
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	A Musician Playing Outside Tea-Houses

It was a complex disguise, but it needed to be if he was to escape The Witch and his mother, and their combined machinations and plans for his life. Of course, as the son of his late father, there had been things that he couldn't leave behind, even though his life depended on his identity remaining hidden. This had necessitated the disguise being even more complicated than it had needed to be in the first place.

Disguising a sword in the neck of a shamisen, a traditional Japanese lute, was no easy, or enjoyable, thing to do. It was also a little bit illegal to carry a concealed weapon, so it needed to be  _impossible_ to spot. After all, if one does not get caught, then one cannot get into trouble.

Then again, he was in trouble enough already.

He looked around himself and sat down on a river bank. He removed his straw-rope waraji, his linen shin-wraps, and spared a moment to be grateful that his disguise meant he was not wearing the extremely full hakama he had grown up wearing, even if it did feel odd to have such freedom of movement without them. This done, he jumped down from the bank into the mercifully shallow river below, and continued walking. Thankfully, it was summer, so the water wasn't as cold as fresh snow-melt and the water came no higher on his legs than half-way up his shins. Had he attempted this just a few short moon-cycles previous, the water  _would_ have been that cold, and it would have been up around his waist as well.

Then again, had he attempted this a few moon-cycles previous, he might have needed to strip off the threadbare and very patched hakama that he had as part of his disguise, but the simple garment that was much less full than the hakama he was used to was only worn in winter. Truly, he wondered to himself as he walked, it was becoming difficult to decide who was better off. The poor, who had more easily worn garments but who died by the hundreds when winter came, or the rich, many of whom were far more deserving of death as they lounged about in fifteen layers of cloth that made free movement nearly impossible.

Five miles down stream, he climbed out of the water once more and up a rocky bank. He took a moment to dry himself, and then replaced his waraji and linen wraps.

“You don't look like a kappa,” noted a voice from a short way ahead of him.

He looked up from tying off the last section of the wrap around his left shin. It was a child that had spoken. A boy.

“This one is not a kappa,” he answered, and as both of his shins were now wrapped, he stood. “This one is a musician,” he added, and gestured to the instrument strapped to his back.

“Why were you in the river then?” the boy asked.

“There were dogs chasing this one,” he answered. “By walking in the river, they cannot follow this one's scent.”

The boy nodded. “Fair enough,” he allowed, and then wandered back towards a building.

A building that was one of several along the road near where he had emerged from the river, indeed, there was almost a whole town built by the side of the road that was across from the river. The one building that drew  _his_ attention though, was a tea house.

He smiled to himself at the sight, and looked around for somewhere to sit. Conveniently, there was a large boulder directly across the road from the tea house. He sat down on it, set an old, slightly tattered square of indigo cloth by his feet, and pulled his shamisen from his back to rest in his lap.

The sword caused the neck of the instrument to be longer and slightly thicker than was usual, save for those who played with the Bunraku, or puppet theatres, in Osaka. It was not the thin-necked variety that he had learned on under his tutors, but still, he had already the benefit of a few nights practice. He had been journeying for a few days already, resting at night to continue refreshed in the early morning, and as he had built a camp fire each night, he tested the differences in the instrument by firelight.

He discovered that he liked the longer, thicker neck much better.

So seated and comfortable upon his chosen seat, he began to play.

He didn't stop playing until the sun began to set, and by that time, people of the town, travellers, and patrons of the tea house alike had left a very welcome-sized pile of coins on the cloth he had set out for that purpose. He gave the pile a contemplative look for a moment, and then shook his head. He returned his lute to his back, and gathered the corners of the cloth together, catching all the money easily within the makeshift little bag.

A dainty pair of feet appeared in his view then, clad in woven-straw zori, which were much like his own waraji. The hem of a faded indigo kimono, decorated with the most simplistic embroidery of flowers in undyed thread, only just brushed the tops of those feet.

He looked up slowly, letting his eyes follow the wave of simple little white flowers up the faded fabric until a small white apron interrupted them. A pair of hands, pale and delicate as any courtesan's despite that they belonged to someone clearly of the class of the working poor, were slightly above the level of the apron. They held between them a simple ceramic plate, which was topped by a pair of steaming dumplings and a short-cut piece of bamboo, which no doubt held water.

Upward still his eyes travelled until they came to the face of the woman that stood before him, and it was beautiful. Without any of the paints or powders of the fine women of the upper classes, her face was lovelier. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and fell down her back without any of the lacquers, combs, pin, or intricate ornamentation that the privileged women were prone to styling their hair with, and still it seemed more beautiful and enticing to him without anything in it than those ingenious styles had been.

That part of him which was masculine and constantly in search of a feminine ideal that would bear him children seized him and declared her perfect at that moment. That part of him which had driven him to escape his mother and the woman she wished him to marry firmly silenced it. Those who were beautiful on the outside, he knew, were not always so lovely within, and he had no desire to marry a harpy simply because she wore the guise of an angel.

“He plays very well,” the young woman said, a smile on her face. Her voice was as pleasant as her face.

“This one thanks her,” he answered softly, voice deep and resonant, just as his father's was.

The young woman shook her head. “She thanks _him_ ,” she said. “The music he played enticed more customers to her master's tea house, and so today her mastery is happy. Her master bid that she bring these small gifts to the musician,” she added, and held forward the plate with its two dumplings and the short-cut bamboo piece. “Her master is rarely so generous.”

“This one is grateful,” he said, and resumed his seat on the rock before he accepted the plate.

“She is called Kagome,” the young woman offered as she stood by. “She would know his name.”

“This one is Sesshoumaru,” he answered.

The young woman, Kagome, raised a hand to hide a giggle. “What an odd name for a musician,” she commented. “Circle of death, perfect killer. Does his music slay his foes?” she asked with light-hearted curiosity.

“This one's honourable parents would have a different life for this one,” Sesshoumaru answered with a gentle shake of his head.

“She is sorry,” Kagome said softly, contrite.

Sesshoumaru shook his head again. “This one thanks her,” he said again, “but it is not needed. This one would have been proud to live that life, but this life has brought more happiness to this one than that which could have been.”

Kagome smiled again. “She hopes he will return tomorrow, and play his music again. Her master will not thank him with water and dumplings a second time, even if business continues to be good. She will bring him them anyway, if he plays again outside the tea house again tomorrow,” Kagome promised.

Sesshoumaru softened slightly towards her. Perhaps here was one of those rare few who were beautiful within as much as they were radiant without. Ever so slightly, he smiled at her. “This one will come,” he agreed.

Kagome smiled brightly and bowed. “She thanks him,” she said.

Sesshoumaru gave quick thanks for the meal then, and sat the plate upon his lap. He ate the dumplings quickly but tidily and drank down the water gladly, then handed the plate and short-cut bamboo back to the young woman. “This one thanks her.”

Kagome bowed slightly as she accepted the plate back, and with one last smile for him, she turned, and returned to the tea house.

~oOo~

For a week, Sesshoumaru returned to that rock across from the tea house every day. He set out the square of indigo cloth by his feet and played upon his lute. When the sun began to set he set the instrument across his back once more and collected up the coins he had been given by those who passed, or who stopped to enjoy his music. Then Kagome would come to him with two hot dumplings and a short bamboo cutting full of water on a plain ceramic plate, and while he ate, they would talk.

Never of anything that would curry censure should their conversations be examined, but Sesshoumaru was able to draw out of Kagome various details about herself. She liked autumn and spring for their beauty, though autumn was the herald of cold and often unforgiving winters, and spring saw the river that ran by their town filling almost to flooding each year, and was very dangerous. She loved flowers, but never picked them, saying that their lives were short enough without her hastening their time of fading. Kagome was also a capable cook, as the dumplings she brought him every day were made by her own delicate hands. She even had some small talent at sewing, haven decorated her kimono with the small embroidered flowers herself.

Kagome was just telling him of her desire to _learn_ when a voice called to her from the tea house.

“Hey! Kagome! Get back in here you clumsy little idiot! There's work to do!” yelled a male voice snappishly.

“Yes Master!” Kagome answered desperately. “She is sorry!” she added quickly, and hurriedly stood. She bowed to Sesshoumaru. “She is sorry,” she said again. “But she must leave his fine company.”

Sesshoumaru nodded in understanding. “This one understands,” he promised softly.

“Poor girl,” observed an older woman who had stopped near by to Sesshoumaru, rather than be knocked down by Kagome as she ran back to the tea house. “To belong to such a man in such a way.”

“Forgive this one, good mother,” Sesshoumaru said respectfully, “but what does she mean by saying such a thing?”

The woman smiled sadly down at Sesshoumaru where he sat. “The girl is to be married to her master next spring so that they may have flowers when she is wed, though she comes to be of a marriageable age in the cold months,” she answered, “and it will do her no good to refuse him. Master InuYasha is a selfish, jealous man. He would not permit her to marry any other, if it will not be him.”

Sesshoumaru felt himself go cold at this news. Kagome, sweet, gentle, loving and giving Kagome, would be married to a man she appeared to fear? A man who demeaned and degraded her for all to hear?

It made bile rise in his throat.

“You would wait a long time, young musician,” the woman said, “if you would wish to have the opportunity to court Kagome without the interference of her master.” With that, the woman checked her hold on her basket and continued on her way, leaving Sesshoumaru to his thoughts.

It was, he supposed, a reasonable thought. Kagome was everything that any man could hope for in a wife and mother to his children. She was kind, patient, and domestically capable. As well as that, she was someone who Sesshoumaru would enjoy the companionship of. She may not have the refinement of the ranked women he had met in the past, but she was intelligent, curious, and above all she was sincere in all she did.

Sesshoumaru knew of only two among the rich who had been as sincere as Kagome. One had been his honoured father, who had been killed in battle seven summers previous. The other was his own self.

These musings would do him no good, however, for Kagome was bound to wed her master. He might be a better man than Sesshoumaru's limited experiences of him demonstrated. She might love him and not wish to leave him. Whatever the truth of the situation, the older woman was most assuredly correct on one matter: if he did wish to court Kagome, if he wished to marry her and make her his wife, then he would have to wait many years for that chance.

Until she was fifty years old, Kagome would have no say in such matters, and would be under the guardianship of another. Whether that man was her current master, or another if he should die, still the fact remained.

As did his own present inability to provide a stable home to any woman, whatever his desires, for as long as he was required to remain hiding from those who had made claims on his person from his previous situation.

~oOo~

The sound of dogs baying in the distance prevented Sesshoumaru from sleeping well that night, and the next morning he did not take his place on the rock across from the tea house. Rather, he took a few of the coins he had earned from his music, and entered the tea house.

“Hey! This is a _classy_ establishment!” growled a man in a kimono that was painted with both indigo and kakishibu dyes, a much more expensive kimono than that which was worn by Kagome, or indeed any of the other girls who were serving tea to customers. “Take your rags held together with bad patching some place else!”

“Master,” Kagome said, her voice soft as she hurried forward. “This is the man who has been playing his instrument across the road all week.”

“I don't care,” the man, her master, InuYasha, sneered. “Him and his filthy stinking hide aren't welcome in _my_ tea house!”

Sesshoumaru frowned, but nodded, turned, and left the building.

Kagome was quick to follow him out.

“She is sorry,” Kagome said softly. “Her master is...”

Sesshoumaru shook his head. “It is not her place to apologise for the actions of another,” he told her kindly. “Kagome... This one is leaving.”

Kagome's eyes went wide with shock, and sadness swelled in the depths of her dark eyes. “Leaving?” she repeated softly.

Sesshoumaru nodded sadly. “This one will miss her,” he confided. “Very much.”

“She will miss him also,” Kagome answered. “She will miss him so much that she will break, and she will cry every day.”

“No,” Sesshoumaru countered with quiet, gentle firmness. “She is too strong to break, and her smiles are too beautiful for her to ever cry.”

“She _will_ break, _and_ cry,” Kagome insisted softly. “Because... because he is leaving, and she loves him.”

Sesshoumaru's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes itched to cry with joy and sadness both. She loved him. She loved _him_! She... “She is to marry her master,” Sesshoumaru said, and closed his eyes against the pain of that truth.

“When that happens, she will die,” Kagome whispered. “She cares for her master, wishes for her master to be happy, but she does not love her master, and her master does not love her. She loves _him_ ,” she repeated, and her delicate hands clenched tightly over the edge of her apron as she looked down at her feet.

Her hair fell forward to hide her face, but Sesshoumaru saw that she was on the verge of tears.

“Hey Kagome! Get in here! Idiot girl, there's work to do!” InuYasha yelled from within.

Kagome flinched.

“This one loves her also,” Sesshoumaru confided. “This one cannot bear to watch her suffer at her master's hand, so this one _must_ go, but she will always be in the heart of this one,” he promised.

Kagome looked up, sniffled, wiped her eyes, and smiled for him.

“Kagome!” InuYasha yelled from inside.

Kagome flinched again. “She will never forget him,” she promised, and fled back into the tea house.

Sesshoumaru's heart broke to watch her run to the call of the man who would marry her before another full year had passed, but even if he were to reveal his true rank to the man, he could not force InuYasha to relinquish Kagome to him. It was a small privilege to even the poor. His household and chattel were his to govern as he saw fit, provided he did so within the law, and though Sesshoumaru might wish that there were laws against the beating of wives and children, there were none. It was a commonly held superstition among the poor that bad luck could be banished through beating one's wife. Some of the more foolish rich held to the ridiculous idea as well.

It disgusted him, but such was the state of his country.

The distant baying of dogs touched his sensitive ears once more, and Sesshoumaru sighed sadly. He truly could not stay any longer, and indeed, it was possible that he had already stayed too long than was safe for him.

~oOo~

For the remainder of the summer, Sesshoumaru travelled. He stayed one day in each town he came to, and in each town he played his lute for coins, earning what he could so that he could afford to buy cured meats from those who had such for sale, and what vegetables and mushrooms could be eaten raw as he travelled.

In each town, Sesshoumaru observed the state of the people that he hid himself among. It seemed to him as he moved about that there was poverty in almost every town, though that poverty was treated in different ways in different places.

In the town where he had been fortunate enough to meet Kagome, the excessively poor gathered in a particular part of the town every morning and were collected by farmers to be labourers on their land. They were given a square meal in exchange for their day's work, and then released to their own business as the sun descended from the sky and into the earth. That business of the poor was finding somewhere to weather the nights. It was a business that Sesshoumaru had been dutifully learning himself since escaping the intentions of his mother and The Witch she would have him bound to.

The summer slowly came to an end, and the leaves on the magnolia trees were taking on the golden hue of autumn. Winter, he knew, would follow fast on the heels of Inari and his messengers as they swept through the fields, blessing the harvest once more, and gathering the tribute left to them by the farmers, the blacksmiths, and their wives all alike.

Sesshoumaru knew that winter would be less than kind to him. In his life, he had never before been forced to weather the difficulties that winter forced upon the common people. Summer had been harsh, but it had also been plentiful. The chill brought by autumn bit at a man, and generosity had been a scarce commodity among the people. They knew as well as he did that winter would be upon them, and for such a time they would need to be prepared. Every cut of cured meat was stored, every grain of rice carefully shut away. Such provisions needed to last them through the winter, and they would not trade for his coin.

One could not eat money, after all.

As the nights grew colder, Sesshoumaru was forced to take refuge from the bitterest face of his country. When he could, he slept in caves with a fire to keep him warm through the night. If he was very fortunate, then he would have a rabbit to roast over those flames. Frequently, he could not, and often he was unfortunate. With the coins he had gathered through the plentiful summer, Sesshoumaru paid lodging to those men who were willing to let him stay for one night in their homes. Many of these men had wives, who would see his instrument, and keep their eyes fixed upon it as they cooked, until he offered a song in exchange for a small bowl of rice.

It was an offer that was not always accepted, so during this time Sesshoumaru grew thinner than he had ever been, and he had always been a slim creature of muscle rather than fat. Still, he continued to move from one town to the next, never lingering long, never willing to strain reluctant hospitality or presume upon the food stores of a community.

The winter did Sesshoumaru one favour, however, and that was to grant him a respite from the baying of hounds that had been forever distantly sounding in his ears when there was not a thick foundation of snow upon the ground. The Witch and his mother were confined by the cruel weather as much as he was forced onwards by it.

Gaunt now, and weary of the cold, Sesshoumaru looked up from the path and saw a flower bud on the very tip of the lowest branch of a nearby tree. Carefully, he reached up to that bud and lightly stroked the branch it bloomed from. He would not pluck it. He would not even touch it, for fear of damaging the bloom it would become.

“Flowers have short enough lives,” he said softly to the bud, recalling a conversation he had shared with his beloved Kagome. His heart ached a little at the reminder of her, yet he smiled despite that, for who could be sad when they had been gifted with the sight of Kagome's smile? Even though the memory was nearing a year old, it remained fresh in his mind, and a much treasured memory.

Beyond the tree with its early blossom was a river, frozen over at the sides, but beginning to thaw in patches towards the centre of its stream. A river that had a rocky bank, and above it a stone that was familiar to Sesshoumaru.

It seemed that his heart had been so heavy it had sank to his feet, and without the permission of his mind they had brought him back to the place where he had met Kagome. Across the river, beyond the rock that had been his seat and the road that had been his stage, there sat the tea house.

He stood there, as frozen in place as the snow-covered stones before him, Sesshoumaru observed the changes that time had marked upon the building since he last stood before it. What he saw was a strange combination of added finery and the ravages executed upon them by winter. Steeling himself, he approached.

Curiously, there were no sounds of business echoing from within.

“Interested in buying Master InuYasha's tea house?” asked a voice from behind him.

Sesshoumaru turned to see a man he recognised, vaguely, as the local representative of the imperial will. The samurai appointed to guard and tax the town. The man had visited the tea house once while Sesshoumaru had been playing across the road. It had been the day before he had himself gone to the tea house, and then left.

Sesshoumaru bowed to the man who was, in truth, far below his station. “This one did visit the tea house in the summer gone. It seems... much changed since that time.”

The samurai scoffed lightly. “Heh, you're not wrong. InuYasha started buying expensive stuff from the merchants, to make the place a bit more refined would be my guess. Then he went and fell sick not long after winter hit. He was two steps away from debt and death both just a week ago, but death got to him first,” the samurai explained, and a pleased smirk crawled up his face.

“Sir, this one is grateful, but why tell such things to this one?” Sesshoumaru asked. “This one is but a wandering musician.”

The samurai rolled his shoulders casually. “Well, the tea house _is_ for sale,” the samurai answered plainly.

Sesshoumaru shook his head. “This one has not the coin for it, and would rather know what has become of one who worked there,” he admitted.

“Well, I'm going to marry one of them once spring is properly here,” the samurai said with a satisfied grin. “Since I claimed her guardianship when her old master died.”

Sesshoumaru's blood ran cold in his veins. Could it be that Kagome, freed from the rule of her uncaring master, had now fallen into the hands of _this_ man?

“Master Koga,” a new voice called, and a boy ran up to the samurai. “A message from the palace for you, Master Koga!” the boy called, and seemed to be very proud of himself for getting to be the one to deliver the scroll, tied with crimson thread, to the samurai.

Koga smiled and patted the boy's head with one hand as he took the scroll with his other. He did not retire elsewhere to read the missive, but rather unrolled it where he stood on the street. A scowl took over his features.

“Of all the nuisances,” the samurai growled. “Boy, summon everybody to the gate of my home,” he instructed the child he had brought him the scroll. “Every single person in town, even those who are just passing through,” he added with a significant glance at Sesshoumaru. “They are all to come immediately, and when you have told everyone, you come too.”

The boy bowed and scurried off.

Sesshoumaru waited until Koga had gone a few steps before he followed.

The sun had travelled a small, but noticeable amount when the entire population of the township had been collected to the gate of the samurai's home. All were present, from the poor who had no homes to those who were attached to the house of the samurai. Kagome was among the latter group. She had been wrapped in several layers of elaborate kimono, her hair had been pulled tight by combs, and there was powder and paint on her face, but no smile to be seen.

“It is my solemn and unfortunate duty to inform everybody gathered here that it is the imperial will a census be conducted, and any township claiming greater than an allotted number must have those excess executed within a moon-cycle of this day,” Koga informed them all gravely. “I wish to have this process done as quickly, and as painlessly, as possible. If I am required to perform any executions according to this edict of imperial will, then those to be executed will be granted a boon by me, and their execution will take place no sooner than the end of the cycle. Let us begin.”

Sesshoumaru was one of the last to be counted, and standing beside him was a woman great with child.

The final number was reported, and Koga sighed with visible relief. “Then we have exactly the number,” he declared with a smile.

The woman beside Sesshoumaru cried out.

“Oh no, don't tell me,” Koga breathed in horror as he saw, and realised what was going on. “If that baby comes then we're one over!”

“She can't exactly hold it in,” snapped a priestess as she pushed through the crowd to the woman.

“My child! Please Master Koga,” a man begged as the pregnant woman was carried off by a number of the women. “We have had three miscarriages before. This will be the first child my wife brought to term!”

Koga groaned. “I'm not so heartless that I'm going to execute a baby because it was born at the wrong time,” he informed the man who, it seemed, was soon to be a father. He sighed in frustration. “Is there any here that would be willing to be executed, should the child live?” he called out over the crowd. “I will grant any boon it is in my power to grant, and the execution will not take place for a full cycle of the moon.”

Through the gathered crowd was much murmuring of sympathy, but not one voice spoke up, willing to give their life for the matter.

Sesshoumaru looked up at where Kagome was standing beside Koga, and as he watched her face he heard again her words when they had parted, her answer to his reminder that she was to marry her master.

“ _When that happens, she will die.”_

“This one shall bear that burden,” Sesshoumaru decided, and declared across the murmuring mass that stood all around him.

Kagome saw him then as the people all stepped away from him in shock, and her eyes widened, and they shone with tears that would spoil her powder if she were to let them fall.

“Thank you,” said the man who, should all go well, would be a father before long.

“Yes,” Koga agreed. “Thank you. What boon would you ask?”

Sesshoumaru looked Koga in the eye for a moment, and then returned his gaze to Kagome. “This one... would be married before feeling the fatal steel,” he said.

The tears overflowed down Kagome's face, while beside her, Koga's expression hardened.

“To Kagome?” he asked coldly, eyes narrowed before he turned to the woman he had chosen to be his own bride.

“Her master said _any_ boon within his power to grant,” Kagome reminded him softly. “And in truth Master, she would have taken the place of the child, had another not spoken first.”

Koga grit his teeth, but he was a samurai, however lowly ranked a one, and the whole town and several travellers had witnessed the promise he had made. He was honour-bound to keep it.

“Very well,” he agreed unhappily. “As soon as the child is born and proven healthy, and the priestess is at liberty to perform the ceremony, then we shall have a wedding. And since a married couple must have a home, I suppose Kagome will be keeping her old master's tea shop after all.”

Kagome bowed in gratitude.

The entire township waited with bated breath for the first cries of the infant to be heard over the screams of the labouring mother. Any and all other business of the day was forgotten in favour of that tense wait, but then it came. The sun had just touched the edge of the horizon, and a new life was welcomed.

“I suggest you start fixing up the tea shop,” Koga said to Sesshoumaru with an unhappy grunt, and turned on his heel to march back into his own, very fine, home.

A hand appeared on Sesshoumaru's shoulder. He turned to find the new father standing there.

“You shall have the help of the town's best carpenter,” the man promised, with a hand laid over his chest. “As thanks, for the life of his family.”

Sesshoumaru bowed his head. “This one thanks him,” he said softly.

The carpenter nodded, and removed his hand from Sesshoumaru's shoulder. “There is some light left yet, and soon lanterns will be lit along the streets. Come, there is work to begin,” he said.

“This one thanks him,” Sesshoumaru repeated. “But he has a family to see. This one will do what may be done this night, and greet him in the morning.”

The carpenter smiled. “First light,” he agreed.

~oOo~

“May all good fortune find you,” the priestess said in blessing once she had committed the two to one another. “May you have good health, succeed in all that you do, may you have riches...” she paused, but then continued. “And may you both have long and happy lives,” she finished, her words soft and solemn.

The census, as well as the annotation of who was to be executed, had been sent off that morning. It was unlikely that Sesshoumaru would escape execution at the end of the moon-cycle. None of those most prone to sickness were currently ill, so there was no hope for him that another may die and his own death be unneeded.

The couple bowed deeply to the priestess, turned, and left the shrine together. The rope tied around their wrists, the symbol of their commitment to be together in all things, was prominent in the fading light of evening, and caught the light of every lantern that they passed on the road to the tea house.

Kagome was dressed in one of the fine kimono Koga had insisted on gifting to her when she became his ward. Sesshoumaru still wore the patched clothing he had purchased as part of his disguise when he left his old home behind. They appeared to be an odd couple, but it was declared by the way in which their hands were so intertwined, and by the smiles on their faces, how right it was that they be each by the side of the other.

Sesshoumaru guided Kagome around to the rear of the tea house, rather than escorting her through the front door. All through the previous night, he had worked alone to turn the building into a place that could be a home to them, and from first light that morning, he'd had the assistance of not only the carpenter, but every poor man who would normally have stood for labour.

His actions had saved their lives too. If there had been no volunteer, then it was likely that, rather than the precious child of a prosperous man, it would have been one of them to find themselves anticipating death. Certainly they could have begged a boon of rich living until that day, but they all feared death more than they desired such.

The portion of the building that had been the tea house was humbled, and that which became part of the home was made more comfortable. The greatest labour of the day had been to create a room for the cleansing of the person. The tea house had its own well at the rear, so there was no shortage of water for the small luxury.

A luxury that, to Sesshoumaru, even after a year of travel and hiding, was more a necessity. When running from dogs, the ability to lose one's scent in water is invaluable.

Kagome stared about her, surprised by the great transformation a mere day had brought.

“Does she approve?” Sesshoumaru asked quietly as he shut the door behind them.

Kagome smiled up at him. “She does,” she answered.

“This one is glad,” Sesshoumaru said, and relief eased some of the tension he had been carrying through the day. “Kagome, there are things that she must know about this one,” Sesshoumaru told her with soft, apologetic solemnity, and led her further into the house. He would not risk any of the township overhearing what must be said. He would not.

“She has also kept a great secret,” Kagome admitted as she followed. “One that was known to none but her family.”

“Permit this one to speak first,” Sesshoumaru requested. With a deep breath to fortify himself, Sesshoumaru removed the primary components of his disguise, or at least those that were easily removed. His hair had been dyed before he left his home, though he had done nothing to shorten the aristocratic length, and a year of travel had allowed it to grow further. The topknot he wore, combined with a head band, hid that, by his skull, there was a different shade to the muddy, brown-black that covered most of its length. The headband was removed, and his person was revealed.

Kagome's eyes grew wide. The mark on her new husband's brow was unmistakable. One that none would ever dare to falsify upon their own unworthy heads. A crescent moon of deepest indigo, the mark of the House of the West.

Sesshoumaru then took up his shamisen and set it across his lap. For the first time in a year, Sesshoumaru did not raise his fingers to the strings as it settled there, but rather he removed his father's sword from where it had been concealed.

Kagome'd eyes grew wider still.

“Kagome, this one is Lord of the West,” Sesshoumaru confided, as he put the instrument to one side and lay the sword across his knees.

Kagome nodded weakly. Such a title... even the most ignorant knew of it. The Lord of the West was second only to the Emperor, and their family line far older. “Why did her Lord leave his palace?” she asked, her shaking voice a bare whisper.

“She who is mother to this one would have seen a bonding between the West and a certain Witch whose company was unbearable to this one,” Sesshoumaru explained. “This one came away to escape the bonding.”

Kagome swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and spoke her secret. “She is a witch,” she whispered. “Will he forsake her? He did not wish to marry a witch.”

“She used no spells to ensnare this one,” Sesshoumaru said with gentle certainty as he cupped her face in one hand, the other still being tied to her, and smiled in reassurance. “This one did not wish to marry _that_ Witch because of who she was, not what. This one still sees before him Kagome, who is held in the dearest corner of the heart by this one. If she be a witch also, then this one cares not, for indeed, the House of the West has long traditions of marrying those with power. It would seem that this one did so as well, even without intention.”

Kagome smiled, her worries eased by his assurances. Then her eyes grew wide again. “Her Lord has promised to give his head,” she recalled unhappily. “And... If Master Koga removes the head of her lord from his shoulders, he shall be executed for it!” she whispered. “She has no love for the samurai, but she does not wish to see her Lord executed.”

Sesshoumaru pressed a tender kiss to Kagome's forehead. “Hold no fear of approaching death,” he bid her kindly. “This one suspects the census was originally a ploy to find this one.”

“Then why the executions?” Kagome asked, confused, though she was also pleased by the gentle touch of her husband's lips to her face.

“The Imperial will is not always well advised,” Sesshoumaru admitted with a frustrated sigh. “This one knows three who have slaughtered their chattel to prevent uprisings on their lands.”

“What will happen to him, if he is discovered in time to save his life?” Kagome asked softly.

“This one will be forced to return to the West,” Sesshoumaru answered. “Thankfully, this one will _not_ be forced to marry the Witch, as there will be a bride already at the side of this one.”

“She would go with him?” Kagome asked, and her eyes grew wide with fear at the prospect. “She would not disgrace him?”

Sesshoumaru kissed Kagome's brow a second time. “She is already Lady of the West, for she is wed to this one,” he told her gladly. “She could never be considered a disgrace.”

“Will...” Kagome hesitated. “Will her Lord teach her, so that she will be a worthy bride and companion for her Lord?”

A third time, Sesshoumaru's lips bestowed tender affection on the head of the woman he was so newly bound to. “This one will teach her, so that she may be a knowledgeable Lady. She is already a worthy bride and companion,” he told her. “Before such lessons may begin, there is one other that must first be given,” he added, and reached for the decorated obi that held shut Kagome's fine kimono.

Kagome blushed, but smiled and nodded in understanding.

“This one will be gentle,” Sesshoumaru promised.

“She thanks him,” Kagome answered.

~oOo~

For the full given cycle of the moon, Kagome and Sesshoumaru were happy together. In the mornings, Sesshoumaru defied convention by assisting Kagome in the work of the house. From noon until mid-afternoon, they received customers in the tea house. Kagome would cook the food, and Sesshoumaru would perform the tea ceremony and then perform on his shamisen. After they had closed and cleaned the tea house, Sesshoumaru instructed Kagome in all the things that he had been forced to learn by his tutors. Including the use of his father's sword.

Mastery of a weapon was not something that could be gained so quickly, and there were traditionalists, Sesshoumaru knew, who would frown deeply at the idea of a woman holding a sword. His mother among them, but then,  _she_ had believed in arranging the marriage of her son without his permission as well, he who was Lord of the West.

“Her Lord is to be executed by the samurai at sundown this day,” Kagome said sadly as she rested her head on Sesshoumaru's shoulder, her arm draped over his chest while his was wrapped around her waist.

“It is not yet true dawn,” Sesshoumaru answered, “and for the past seven-night, this one has heard the baying of the dogs of the West. Every night, they did grow nearer, and they shall reach the gate of the samurai long before this night touches the sky.”

“Her Lord will be saved?” Kagome asked hopefully.

“This one was saved by _her_ ,” Sesshoumaru replied fondly, and tucked her closer to his side where they lay upon their futon. “But, yes, the samurai will be denied the head of this one.”

Kagome sighed happily, and smiled as she nuzzled into her husband's shoulder. “She is glad.”

Sesshoumaru chuckled deep in his chest. “She will meet the honoured mother of this one, and be declared Lady of the West by moon-rise. Is she glad still?” he asked teasingly.

“Her Lord will be alive at moon-rise, and she will be permitted to remain by his side. She is glad,” Kagome answered firmly, smiling happily.

“Then, this one is glad also.”


End file.
